Young As Time
by La Patron-Minette
Summary: "He finds her trust in him almost amusing when it is not sad. She trusts him because she feels as if there is no one else for her to believe in. How does one feel when her mother is a weakling? When her step father uses her as a punching bag and the boy across the street is more concerned with the girl next door?" Gabe/OC. TW: Abuse from a canon character.


**Hey guys! Thanks for reading! Sorry if the first part of this story has really immature writing, the narrator ****_is _****only a preteen. This is AU, because I am a terrible person and I... Well, you'll see I guess.**

**This story is based around the two lines, "The house on walton way, the house with the red door?" and "here's the house on walton way after the fire." So yes it is very much AU.**

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_When the morning sun is showing..._

_And you wish that you were running far away..._

_Birds are singing, figs are falling..._

_You wish you'd be gone but you stay, you stay._

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_December 21_

Mom gave me this notebook as a present, a please-forgive-me -for-moving-without-a-warning present. I mean, I like it I guess. It's pretty-ish, with blue flowers on the cover, and the cover is black. I haven't written until now. She gave it to me in September but sixth grade has just started, and it's harder than I thought it would be. It doesn't help that I'm the weird new girl who wears purple every day.

Purple is my new favorite color. It's because it's _his_ favorite color.

When I put something purple on he always smiles at me, and it helps me get through the day. I don't know his name, and he's never spoken to me, but I've never been afraid of him.

I think he's scared that Mom and Phil will kick him out of the house. But I wouldn't let them. I would fight for him, because I think I may be in love with him.

He's my little secret, you know. I can hide him from the world, because I don't know if anyone else knows that he lives here in this little house on Walton Way. I'm okay with that.

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_December 25_

Phil is in the hospital. My hand is shaking so badly that I can barely write. _He _did it, too. My mom always brings a picture of my dad downstairs and sets it by the tree on Christmas, but Phil got mad about it this year. They got into a big fight, and Phil flung his hand and it hit me on the jaw.

I have a bruise. It's a gross color, it's kinda yellowy and a little purple, so I thought that would make him happy. But he wasn't. He made a face that scared me, and when I tried to run from him he looked like _I_ hurt him. I would never hurt him.

When Phil came downstairs to get a beer, he fell and Mom screamed so loud I thought my eardrums were gonna burst. When I ran to the stairs _he_ was there, standing on the landing with a smile on his face. I don't know why he was smiling, Phil was bleeding and really really pale.

But when I looked up at him he winked and just like that he was gone.

When he was there he wasn't wearing purple like he usually does. He was wearing white, like some sort of angel.

My guardian angel. I think I like that.

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_February 14_

He wouldn't let me look at him today. We've actually spoken since last time. The Phil thing made him more talkative with me, and I've learned a lot of things about him except for his name. He just looked sad for a moment before he told me that he couldn't remember when someone last called him by his name.

I think that's terribly sad, to not hear your name. I asked him to tell me but he couldn't.

I don't know why that bothers me, but it does.

He's helping me with my homework because he's a big kid. He knows how to do my math that I am hopeless at, and he's already read To Kill A Mockingbird. That's a really big book with some words that I don't even know.

I saw him for just a moment today. There was a burn all up his arm, and when I asked him about it he glared at me. He's never looked at me like that, and it was scary. It didn't help that the burn covered his handsome face too.

I'm scared for my angel. I don't know what's happened to him. I asked Mom about burns and she looked up. She had such wide eyes when I asked. She said nothing, just showed me her arm. She had so many burns; her skin was shiny and red. She wouldn't tell me what happened either.

I wish someone would tell me something. I only care about _him_ and my mom. Phil doesn't like me, and he goes out of his way to hurt me. He closes the car door on my hair, he stops suddenly on the stairs so that I nearly fall, he pushes me a little too roughly when I'm in his way, and he makes me do too many chores. One time, back when we lived in New York, I had to pick up his broken bottle. I still have angry scars on my hands.

At least _he_ cares. I hold onto that. He's like a big brother to me but I don't want him to be my _brother_. That feels wrong. I am so confused, because he can't be my boyfriend! He's almost an adult and I'm barely twelve.

But I do know that I love him in some way.

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**This is also on fictionpress under the same name, only a more complete version :)**


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